The Sky
Those who love the azure sky, beautiful
Limitless, a place for the soul to play
Should know that the sky they see is a lie
A cover for the glories behind, that
The horizon is too low, a jagged
Cheapened line carrying far too much
Sky, far too much weight, unlike the past
The Cliffs
There were cliffs so high they curved above us
Striped with geology so old, so rich
It had no names, not even those of the
Miners who died in the winding holes they
Dug into the cliff walls, holes to the sky
Rapidly closing as the rubble falls
Behind the miner who looks over
His shoulder, drops his pick, sees darkness fall
And outside, on the cliff face, another
un-named dot appears, revenge of the cliff
The Cities
There were cities up there, intricately
Carved into living rock, up and down a
Thousand feet, fifteen feet deep, elegant
Homes, one room after another, shallow
Caverns containing formal gardens, scents
Of mountain flowers drifting over rocks that
Were encrusted with lichen, pale gray, rose
Red grey, washed out pastels against the
Dark grey of the rock, there were farms, six inch
Wide terraces of pounded rock mixed with
Excrement. There were vertical hunts for
Nests of giant birds or the lizards of
The High Cliffs where loops and curtains of light
Crash against jagged black rocks forever
The Machines
In other places hidden by the sky
There were cascades of machinery
Turned, powered by paddles pushed by super-
Sonic waterfalls, pistons and cogs moved
Together in relays as long as
A continent, as high as a house. engines
That carried coils of data upward to
The inaccessible peaks where, under
Loops of light, reality becomes real
And flows downhill in vast cataracts to
Infect worlds below with consistency
The Face
If we could tear down the sky like the cheap
Drapery it really is we would see
All these things and more, but behind it all,
We would see a face - huge, asymmetrical
Broken like a boxers at careers end
Eyes red with blood, blurred with tears, filled with rage
Look from a face like an ancient mask of
Terracotta, cracked by time, unglazed
Dusty red, wet lips move, slow syllables
Make out the word of unmaking, one word
An eon, a mad god unwinds the threads that
Hold together the world behind the sky
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